A Journey of Trust and Hardships
by Scoobii
Summary: Four friends, destruction and a whole lot of zombies. 'Nuff said, really.


The town centre was deserted, devoid of any life. Buildings that were once bright and busy were now empty and falling apart, with windows broken and doors smashed in. Cars were parked along the footpath and in car parks, their dilapidated look and rusted exterior making them look as though they had been there for years. Overturned cars were here and there, evidence of long past collisions and accidents.

A strange, unnatural silence hung over Greenville's centre, mingling with the ominous dark clouds that hung low over the buildings. Rain poured onto the dusty streets in torrents, cracked gutters overflowing with rainwater that streamed from broken buildings. Even the wind seemed to somehow belong to the dreary area, howling between the eaves of houses, yet not breaking the unnatural quiet.

And then the silence shattered with the sound of rapid gunfire and screaming, and the tranquil dreariness of the street was cut down by sharp tension. A building, well blended into the general shabbiness, seemed to quake on its supports before its front door burst open. Four people fell out of the doorway into a tangled mess outside, yelling and fighting to stand as the rain started to hammer down.

Thunder and lighting raged around the dark sky as a man stumbled out of the building and into the rain. This man, sallow and gaunt, walked with a limp, his left leg twisted in, what would be, an agonising way, while his face looked horribly mauled and bloody. His clothes were tattered beyond repair and stained with the liquid that sustained life; blood. Bullets had pierced his chest, yet no blood spilled from the wounds as he continued his horrific lurch, obviously not encumbered by the lead within the bullet holes. He merely slouched and limped towards the group, arm extended and mouth wide open to reveal brown teeth.

After what seemed like a century, a boy finally untangled himself from the group and turned around, reaching for a handgun on the ground. The man was a few feet away before the boy whirled his hand around and fired, hitting his target directly in the forehead, right between the eyes. The bloodied man stumbled back a step, a blank look on his face as blood oozed down his cheek. Seconds later, he crumpled to the ground into a heap and did not get up.

Hannah panted from shock and a fluttering heartbeat as she got up from the ground, her face wet from rain and sweat. Fear squirmed uncomfortably in her chest, like a bubble that had formed as soon as they had entered the building, but she ignored it as she moved to help Will and Kara. They too were drenched in rain and sweat, sharing the same panicked and surprised faces.

Hannah turned from her two friends to glance at Mark, who was still standing near the entrance of the building. He stood with his back to them, the gun in his hand trembling with his fingers and his head lowered. For a moment Hannah was tempted to stay away from Mark, but she knew it would do more harm than good to leave him be, so she made her way over to comfort him.

"What the hell happened?" asked Will in a quiet voice that was hard to hear over the rain. Hannah shrugged slightly and moved forward a couple of steps, coming in line with Mark. He still didn't move, but his head did twitch slightly. The sorrow in his eyes was evident as he gazed at the corpse, the bullet wound in its head standing out starkly against its pale, yet grimy skin.

"I'm sorry, Mark…" she said, turning to her best friend. They both stood in silence, staring at the bloody and semi-decomposed corpse of what was once a man named Jack Bell. It lay at an odd angle on the steps to the building, its arms sprawled out and its broken leg bent the wrong way. The blank look was still on its thin face, but its features had diminished slightly with the bloody bullet wound between the eyes.

Jack Bell had been the self proclaimed "hermit" of Greenville, being the only one brave and foolish enough to live in the centre of the town after the zombie plague swept through the area. His daredevil nature was matched only by his skill with a firearm, a skill he utilized to teach to the remaining Greenville survivors how to defend themselves. Because of his training and his father-like appearance, he had earned the respect of the survivors and displayed the same in return.

He had called them in only a day before, bearing news of a radio message on the airwaves from fellow survivors of the zombie pandemic. They had gone to meet up with him in his base to discuss what actions they should take, though Mark had insisted on taking supplies if they were to leave immediately. When they went to meet him, what they found was less than a husk of him.

"How did he get infected…?" muttered Mark, finally taking his eyes off the body to glance around anxiously. Hannah followed his lead, worry gathering in her gut: what if there were more zombies? She half expected a horde of the undead to lurch around the corner, intent on tearing them apart. The thought made a shiver go down her spine and she instinctively put a hand to the gun holstered to her leg.

Mark's eyes suddenly flared with determination, and he holstered his gun as he turned to the others. Kara and Will, who had been watching the body with the same squeamish expression, jumped at the sudden movement. Hannah noted the resolution in Mark's expression and knew what was going to happen a split second before he said anything.

"Jack died doing what he loved," he muttered more to himself than the group, and Hannah guessed he was trying to bolster his own dwindling confidence first. "He's dead. Dead. Gone. I… guess we've just got to accept that." He looked rather unsure of himself and his choice of words, yet he ploughed on. "Yeah… accept it."

Hannah eyed Mark worriedly and could see the masked pain in his eyes. It was painfully obvious that he was hurting from the fact that he shot the fabled hermit of Greenville, even if he was dead already. But there was something else, a hurt Hannah recognised fairly easily. It was the same pain she saw when Mark had to shoot his own father, the same she felt when she was told to abandon her family.

Heart sinking at the memory, Hannah turned to Jack's corpse as Mark cautiously neared it. The body remained stationary and limp even though he drew closer than the group would dare. Hannah stepped to the side so that she could see what Mark was doing and saw him grabbing a soggy folded piece of paper off the ground.

"Fell out of his pocket…" he mumbled, unfolding the wet paper delicately as he stepped away from the corpse and under the shelter of the overhang on the doorway. The group moved closer and out of the rain, sopping hair clinging to faces and clothes weighing down terribly. After a small wait Mark finally unfolded the piece of paper. The group watched with bated breath as his eyes flicked from one end to another, scanning the words with an unreadable expression on his face. Just as Hannah was about to ask him to read it out, he thrust it into her hands and turned away, averting eyes with everyone. She jumped and almost tore it at the action, but luckily it did not split.

Perplexed at Mark's reaction to the letter, Hannah looked down at the paper and saw an untidy scrawl, riddled with mistakes. The rain had caused some of the ink to run, but thankfully it was still – barely – legible.

_Guys,_

_Zombie snuck in and got me with my back turned. I shot it with the shotty, but I blew up half my stuff as well, including the raidio. _

_The messege was sent from survivers over in Thornwood, a bit east of Greenville. They said that all survivers should go to their compound on the edge of the town cause its safer and much more reliebel than liveing in here._

_I think you should go. This desserted town is no place for teenagers to grow up, and youl be safer there. I wood join you, but I cant. Not now._

_Dont spit in my face and ignore my request. Go to Thornwood imediatly with the supplies I told you to bring. Should be a one day trip, and you probably will make it before night. You have to use bikes to get there, since the other survivers stole the usable cars and motorbikes. I've got some around the side of the shop ready._

_Take lots of ammo. Dont stop for anythin, and make sure you stick to the road. Who knows whats out there?_

_Jack_

Hannah read through the note multiple times, her heart rate increasing each time. Without saying anything she passed the note off to Kara, a stinging sensation in her chest. Jack's last words to anyone were written on that piece of paper. His last moments alive were spent to give the group an order. No… a request, one from a dead man, the same person that lay before them.

His note gave Hannah the slightest hope, even though she was soaking wet and standing over a corpse. Shaking her head, she turned to Mark and opened her mouth to speak. However, she could not find her voice, as a smile had formed on Mark's face. A rare event indeed, and Hannah once again knew what was going to happen before it did.

"Thanks, Jack…" he muttered, taking the note from Will. "Well? What do you guys think?"

His question hung in the air as the group contemplated their answers. Will and Kara shared the same blank expression, but beneath their dark eyes, wheels were turning. Seconds passed until someone broke the silence.

"Yeah." Kara's voice sounded airy, like the wind was throwing it around with the litter. "I wanna go. Jack hasn't been wrong, ever." Seconds later, Will agreed with an affirmative nod. Hannah copied him, not wanting to say anything.

Mark nodded his head as well, gazing at the note once more. The smile lingered as he scanned the instructions again, and after a moment he looked back up with a surprised look in his eyes.

"This is weird," he muttered, looking astonished. "We've just been given a chance to escape this shitty town, and you guys just took it without flinching."

Three pairs of shoulders rose in a "so-what" kind of way, though Hannah knew that deep down each person was affected by the sudden chance, including her. The chance to escape a rundown, zombie-infested town to what would be a safer place seemed so strange and amazing, though no one wanted to display any outward shock.

"Ah well… I s'pose we go now?" Mark asked, glancing around at his old bag. It was stuffed to the top with the supplies Jack had asked them to bring, with several weapons bound to the sides. "That's what he-" Mark motioned to the dead body without looking at it, "-asked. So… yeah. I guess… I guess we can go now, then?"

No one objected. No one wanted to. They were all too preoccupied with the tantalising thought of a better life among real humans. Sure, the group's friendship had gotten them through many troubles before, but being among a colony of humans once more seemed a thought happier than those they had recently experienced.

Five minutes of dawdling did not seem to settle the matter, so without saying anything Mark walked out of the doorway and into the open street. He did not stop to wait for the group and turned the corner around the building. Shaking her head, Hannah followed him with Kara and Will around the shop, where she came upon four rusted bikes propped up against the wall.

Hannah watched as Will's face dropped in let down, as though he were expecting something a bit more usable.

"Jack left them for us. We may as well use them. They're our only hope."


End file.
